After Iran
by BEM96
Summary: The Team is out of Iran, Jaz is safe. What now?- The Brave is my new favorite TV show. I want to know what's next, so I write it myself.
1. Chapter 1

Dalton felt his finger freeze just millimeters from his trigger. His target held Jaz tight to his body, a sharp knife pressed into the flesh of Jaz's neck. Dalton fought to keep himself steady as he felt the panic start to take over him.

The target was shouting at the team as they advanced on him. "We have already won," he screamed in Arabic. "We have already won! You cannot stop us!"

Dalton's feet were steady, his aim never wavering as he stepped closer and closer. He could feel his team moving in the same methodical pattern. "No joy," he heard McG in his ear.

It would have to be a kill shot to keep Jaz alive. "No joy" Preach repeated. No one had it.

"Let's talk about what you want," Dalton answered in the target's language.

"We want nothing from you!" the target yelled. Dalton saw a glint of light move on the blade of the knife. "Allah 'Akbar!"

It all happened so fast. The knife moved, Jaz was falling, and he heard the shots, four of them, as the target's head exploded, shot four times, Preach, Amir, McG. Where was the fourth shot? He felt the kick of his weapon press into his shoulder. It had been him. He had fired the fourth shot. He hadn't even realized he had pulled the trigger. The target had been obliterated, not just neutralized, but it was too late. "Jaz," he called and with what seemed like one stride he was at her side, blood pouring from the slit in her neck. Her lips were moving, but there was no sound. He could hear the hissing of air through her slashed throat. Her eyebrows were knit tight together, but her eyes were open wide. She reached out to him. She was dying, the color draining from her face and blood pooling in her mouth. "Hold on," he told her. "Just hold on." He felt McG pushing him out of his way, saw him pressing something to Jaz's neck, but it was too late. The light in her eyes was fading. She wasn't moving, and then he saw it, that moment where everything stops. Her eyes were frozen and lifeless. She was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Dalton woke up gasping for air, drenched in sweat, staring wide eyed at the rough wood beams of the ceiling of his cabin. He could feel his heart racing and tried to catch his breath and shake it off. It was just another dream. Nightmare. Every time it was different. The scene changed, the weapon's changed, but ended the same. Jaz was dead at his feet. He hadn't saved her. He had been too late. He sat up and threw his legs off the side of the bed, burying his head in his hands as he rubbed at his face, as if it would shake away the images. They weren't real. Except the one he couldn't shake off, the look on her face as she looked through the window of the van as it pulled passed him in that parking garage, that frozen look of helplessness as he watched her pull away from him. That was the one real image that haunted his waking hours as much as the imagined images of his dream haunted his nights.

His adrenalin was pumping. The soldier had taken over. He could hear every creek of the trees outside, every rustling leaf. What was he listening for? Footsteps? In the middle of the Blue Ridge forest? There was a splash in the nearby creek. It was probably an animal. Dalton reached over to his nightstand and checked his handgun. It was locked and loaded. In two steps he was at the door of his room, quickly tucking the handgun into the waist of his pants, then lifting the rifle from the table and raising it to his shoulder. He listened again. Nothing. He slowly opened the cabin's door in the darkness and stepped onto the porch. He slowly scoped the area. Nothing. He shook his head at himself and stepped back inside. He had to stop this. It wasn't right and it wasn't healthy. He knew he would face a psych evaluation before they were re-deployed, and this was exactly the sort of thing they'd be looking for. Team 7 was his. He was the leader. He needed to get it together.

Even the idea of sleep was gone. He sat down at the table and placed the rifle in front of him, then the handgun. Absentmindedly he started rubbing at a mark on the grip of the rifle, then the barrel. He fought off the rest of the darkness cleaning his weapons. It was calming. It was familiar. It made him feel safe.

Jaz felt the warm water pour over her head as she rested her forehead against the shower wall. There were so many smells she had grown unaccustomed to. The air smelled like flowers and baby powder. She felt safe, closed in the small shower, locked inside the bathroom of her parent's apartment. Her parents didn't know what she did, or at least didn't understand. It was better than way. There was no point in frightening her mother, but that meant hiding parts of herself, especially the wounds on her thighs and abdomen where the Iranian guard had tried to carve her up like a roast to get her to reveal something about herself. The wounds were healing. The physical signs of the mission would fade into the background, given enough time. She rolled her ankle making small circles with her foot in the air. It felt good to have it free of the boot it had been confined in since they first got back to Turkey. Then she rolled her wrists and took a deep breath, feeling her lungs fill with air, without any sharp stabbing pains.

"Yasmine," he mother called as she knocked on the door. "Yasmine, is everything okay? Are you all right

in there?"

Jaz silently banged her head against the side of the shower. The peace never lasted. Her mother hovered over her every minute. "Mom!" she growled back.

"Okay, okay. I worry," her mother pleaded. "I have breakfast. Come out and eat something, please."

Jaz turned off the stream of blissful water. All she had done was yell and scowl at her mother for weeks. Her mother hadn't done anything, but love her and want to take care of her. She didn't know how to control her inner need to snap at her. She shook her head at herself as she grabbed a towel. "Okay, mom. I'm coming." Jaz quickly dried off and hobbled out of the shower, putting her foot back in the safety and confinement of the black walking boot, then pulling on some loose pajama pants and a tank top and hoodie that had seemed to become her new uniform since she had returned home. She piled her hair on top of her head loosely and left the safety of her bathroom solitude.

The whole apartment smelled of delicious meats and eggs and bread. Her mother wasn't a perfect woman but she could cook. Jaz sat down across from her mother in the crowded kitchen. . Her parent's apartment was small and packed with a lifetime of collections. Her father had taken over her brother's old bedroom as an office. It was cluttered with a desk and paperwork that seemed to be in no order at all. The halls were over packed with pictures hanging from the walls. Some were pictured of her and her brother when they were younger. Some were family she knew. Some were people she had never met, family that her parents had left behind when they immigrated to the United States before Jaz was born. Her room had remained a time capsule of her childhood. Presidential physical fitness awards still stuck to the wall, certainly the only kind of award she ever received in high school. The home was a shrine to her parent's eclectic life. Her mother, born and raised in Paris, before going back to Lebanon to marry her father. Her father, a prideful man who chose to raise his family in America, but angry at how American his children became. He disapproved of how she dressed, that she swore and drank. He told her to be a woman. Woman didn't behave like her. But Jaz was doing the only thing that had ever felt natural to her and her father's disapproval had become only a silent disgruntled undertone. "Thanks Mom," Jaz said reaching for the food on the table.

Her mother smiled. "Do you have an appointment today?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"I can come with you. We can get a cab."

"It's fine, Mom. I'll take the subway. Dad is probably wanting your help anyway."

Her mother shook her head. "You shouldn't ride the subway when you're like that," she said gesturing to the boot on her daughter's leg. "You look weak. People will take advantage of that. It's dangerous."

Jaz couldn't tell her that a month ago she had killed an armed, guarded man with only her bare hands half way across the world. And even after being tortured had wrestled another unconscious, before McG had put two bullets in his brain. She thought she was more than capable of taking the subway from the Bronx to Manhattan. "Mom, I've got it. It's almost better anyway."

Her mother only scowled and shook her head.

A few hours later, she and her mother walked together to one of the bodegas her father owned in the neighborhood. She remembered being behind the counter with him as a little girl. It was the first time she had ever held a gun in her hand. Their neighborhood wasn't the best in New York, but it was home. It made her grow up tough. It made her what she was. She couldn't regret that.

"Hey Dad," Jaz said as her mother made her way to the back of the store to get to work.

Her father looked up at her. "Yasmine," he greeted her. "You are going to your doctor?"

"Physical therapy."

"I see." He began shuffling receipts. In a month of living under their roof for the first time in years, he had never once asked her how she had gotten hurt. Maybe it was better that way.

"Okay, see ya' around," she said turning away. "Bye Mom." Her mother cautioned her to be safe once more before Jaz headed out to the subway, a backpack swung over one shoulder, and her boot mostly covered by her jeans.

"Name?" the receptionist asked at the check in desk.

"Sergeant Kahn," Jaz answered, offering her ID.

"Jazzy Jaz," her physical therapist called from the doorway. "Come on back here girl. We got work to do." Dwight was a tall black man, older than her. He looked like he was made for a basketball court. He was easy to talk to and never made her feel injured. But he hadn't been easy on her either. That was good. She didn't like people being easy on her. "How's it goin'?" he asked as she sat down on an exam table and he started to pull off her boot, as they had done at least twice a week for a month.

"It's goin'" she replied.

"You been doin' your exercises?" Jaz nodded. He manipulated her ankle around and back again. "Push" he said putting her foot flat against his palm. She pushed hard into his hand. "Hmm," he said. "Okay, on your feet Sergeant," her said pulling her up off the table. "Got your other shoe in your bag?"

"Yeah."

"Better get it on. I'm about to make you run."

"I'm not scared of you," Jaz said jokingly.

"I'm scared as hell of you, Ninja Warrior. Let's see your moves!"

For the next half an hour Dwight had her on her toes through obstacles and on her feet running sprints. Even when her ankle was screaming in pain, she didn't say a thing. She closed her eyes and pictured her team and just kept moving.

"Damn girl!" he said as she collapsed at the end of the course he had set up for her.

Jaz was laughing, which was better than crying. "Come on, I didn't even have any gear on."

Dwight nodded. "One step at a time, Jaz."

When he talked to her like that he reminded her of Preach. She missed the sound of Preach's voice, the soothing bass with sound words of wisdom. Jaz smiled.

"What?" Dwight asked her.

"Nothing. You just reminded me of someone," she told him. Except when he said things like _damn girl_ , then he sounded more like McG, the ever lovable goofball that he always was.

"Somebody good, I hope."

"The best," she said smiling. "What are you doing?" she asked as he took off her shoe and started wrapping up her ankle with some sort of a sock.

"I think you're about ready to get rid of that boot. Don't you?" he asked.

"Hell, yeah."

"So let's get you fitted for a brace. It'll give you a lot more freedom than that thing," he told her gesturing to the boot. "A few weeks of that and you should be good as new and back to work."

"Are you for real?" she asked hopefully. "Just a few more weeks?"

"I think about that," he told her. "I'm not the last word though. So, when are you supposed to re-deploy?"

"Don't know yet. But I intend to be with my team when they do." She was ready to go home, she thought, as he wrapped her foot. When did Turkey start to feel like home more than her parent's apartment in the Bronx? When did Preach and McG and even Amir start to feel more like family than Robbi and her own parents? She didn't think about Top. She tried not to. There was nothing but trouble there. Whatever harmless flirtation or girly crush she might have been willing to indulge in Spain or Mexico, had gone sideways along with everything else in Iran. They went in together, posing as husband and wife. She hurried to get the ring off her finger because she didn't want it to show that she liked his touch, his hand on her back, or the way he tucked her against his shoulder. She liked it, and she shouldn't have.

There were lots of memories that were a little fuzzy after she was captured, but some were crystal clear. The look on his face as the van pulled passed him. It didn't look like much of a rescue plan to her, but maybe it was all they had. Either way, it had failed miserably and the look on his face was crushing. She remembered the taste of bile in her mouth when she saw the picture of Adam Dalton's tortured body being shown to her in the vast sea of white, the sudden fear, until her brain could process that she was being manipulated. Then there was the sound of the RPG. She knew what it was and she knew it was her team, her family coming to rescue her. So she kept fighting, with every ounce of strength she could find, until her vision was going black on the edges from pain, and the Iranian guard was motionless at her feet. There was an explosion. She could smell the burning smell of chemicals, but then, even with her eyes closed, she knew he was there. She could smell him. She could feel his hands on her arms, then wrapping around her and pulling her into another vehicle. She could feel his body behind her, strong and holding her together. She felt safe.

He'd stayed in physical contact with her the entire time as they piled into the truck that would take them to the boarder. He laid behind her, keeping her tucked against him. She shouldn't have wanted it. It shouldn't have made her feel safe. She wanted to cry. She wanted to roll over and bury her head in his chest. She wanted him to hold her and tell her she was okay, but she shouldn't have. She couldn't. Not with Preach and McG inches away. Instead she told herself to toughen up. Soldiers don't cry. And when some slipped out passed her control, she tried to be silent. But the shaking of her body, so close to him, gave her away.

"Talk to me," he'd said. What did he want to hear? That she was tough enough to get through it? Mission accomplished. We're going home. That's what he'd told her. She hated Iran. Even when he let go of her, well on the safe side of the Turkish boarder, she could feel his eyes on her. He was watching her. But all she could think about was the wind in her face, like it could blow away the sounds of gunfire, the taste of her own blood in her mouth, the sting of the knife wounds, the pain she felt in her chest with every breath. Mission accomplished. A soldier left it there.

Dwight finished his measurements and put her foot back in her boot. "Should be ready on Friday. See you back here then, okay?"

Jaz agreed and scheduled another appointment on her way out, then made her way back to the subway, the boot feeling heavier and more awkward than before. She changed to the green line and rode to a stop near the apartment. The side walk in front of her was crowded with a group of guys, smoking and dressed like they still belonged in high school. She tried to give them a wide berth, keep her head down, when one of them called out.

"Jasmine, look whose back and lookin' fine," she heard him call. She recognized him. He had been just as big an ass in the neighborhood back in the day. "Look at you, baby. Welcome home," he said striding up next to her. "Where you goin' in such a hurry?" he asked. Jaz felt his hand reach out and touch her back and in an instant, without even thinking, he was on his back, flat on the sidewalk, Jaz's forearm pressed hard into his neck.

She had flipped and pinned him on nothing but adrenalin. She heard the gaps of the group of men behind her. Some were even jeering. She looked around the street and saw people's faces around her. They were afraid of her, of what she could do. She could have killed him right there if she'd wanted to. "Keep your hands to yourself," she threatened with a thrust of her elbow, then stood up quickly and walked away. She dove into the first alley and started to make her way on back streets. Her heart was pounding. She had done it again. She hadn't even thought. She just reacted. People were frightened of her. Maybe she was a little scared of herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**One Month Earlier**

The medical team was waiting for the truck when it pulled up to the gates of the base. McG was the first one out of the truck. "Tachycardic at 140, O2 sats 89, tachypnic. Multiple puncture wounds to the legs and abdomen," he called. Her breathing had grown increasingly shallow as they drove. Any deep breath caused her to wince and grab at her chest. He was fairly sure there were some broken ribs when they left Tehran. If she managed to get through a six hour drive without one piercing her lung, it would have been a miracle. Her left ankle was a mess. He couldn't even begin to guess what that needed without some images.

Dalton helped her down from the flat bed into the waiting arms of the medics waiting with a gurney. They were calling out orders to each other. "Saline, wide open," a doctor called. "Chest x-ray, forward and lateral," he called, listening to her chest as they began to move away from them through the mid-day sun to the medical facility.

"BP is 86 over 40," a nurse called. "O2 sats are falling. 82."

"Get some oxygen on her. 10 liters. Come on. Let's move."

"What's happening?" Dalton asked the team's medic as the team moved away from the truck that had taken them out of Iran.

"She's lost some blood, and she's dehydrated. She probably has some broken ribs. One might have punctured her lung."

"Is she stable?" Dalton asked. She'd seemed okay when they first crawled out of the floorboards of the flatbed, but soon she grew tired. Of course she did. Who knew the last time she'd slept. Or ate. He thought it was a good sign, but McG saw it. Of course he did. When she leaned against a crate and her eyes closed, he was watching her, taking her pulse and messing with things in his medical bag.

"She's fine, Top. They'll fix her up."

Preach and Amir were by their side as the team crossed the dusty roadway, following the path of the gurney that had raced away from them.

Dalton spent the afternoon watching the sun slide through the sky outside the small window in the reception area. It was almost dusk when she called his name.

"Captain Dalton?" A woman in a lab coat asked, coming into the area where the four men waited. Dalton and McG were on their feet. "Sargent Khan is doing well. We put in a chest tube to re-inflate her right lung. She has three broken ribs that we set, as well as her left ankle. Most of the puncture wounds were superficial, but we stitched up the deeper lacerations. Once we get her hydrated, I think she's going to be fine."

"Where is she?" Dalton asked.

"We're moving her to a room now. She's sedated. She'll probably sleep through the night. You should all get some rest. You can see her in the morning," she said with a smile.

But Adam Dalton stood indignantly. "We leave when she leaves," he told her.

McG tried to decide if the doctor looked confused or annoyed. "She's perfectly stable, Commander."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. We'll leave when she leaves," Adam told her again.

Preach and Amir had come to stand with them, all watching the doctor's response. Finally she gave a shrug. "Come with me," she finally conceded and the four men followed her down the corridor.

Dalton could see her dark hair standing out against the pale sheets of the hospital bed. Nurses were still moving around the room, hanging IV bags, and attaching monitors. Jaz looked peaceful, if a little smaller somehow, in the hospital gown draped over her body.

The doctor stopped at the edge of the curtain. "She needs to rest. You've all seen her now," she started.

"Yeah, we'll take it in shifts," Dalton said, heading off the doctor's attack. "You guys hit the racks. I'll stay." No one on his team was going to fight him.

"I'll come back about 04:00. I want to be here when the doctors round in the morning, make sure I know what's going on," McG said nodding.

Amir agreed. "Come on," he said. "Let's let her rest." He and McG turned to leave.

It was Preach who stood next to his friend. "You okay?" he asked Adam quietly.

Adam's jaw was tight. "Yeah."

"Top," Preach said calmly. "It's been a bad day."

"Yeah," Dalton said again. "Get some rest. Call your family. You can take tomorrow noon."

Preach knew his friend well enough to know what that meant. He wasn't ready to talk about it. Adam's friend was dead. His team mate was lying in the hospital. He hadn't slept in days. Preach wouldn't push. Not tonight. "You got it, Top. When you're ready," he said with a knowing nod. "Whenever you're ready." He gave his friend a slap on the shoulder, then turned and walked to meet the rest of the team, headed home.

Adam made his way into the curtained room. He wasn't waiting for an invitation. There was a chair near the corner, and he quietly moved it to be near the bed.

"She needs her sleep," a nurse told him.

"I know," Dalton said with a small smile. "You won't even know I'm here," he told her, sitting down in the chair. He could be charming when he wanted to be, when it served his purpose. He smiled at her again.

She tilted her head to the side, looking at him sadly. "Can I get you anything? Do you want a blanket?"

Adam shook his head. "Thank you," he told her. All he needed was for Jaz to be okay.

He spent most of the night thinking about the mission, what had gone wrong, about his friend giving his life for Adam's team. Maybe it wasn't really for Adam. Maybe it had been for Jaz. They had already taken his daughter. He wouldn't let them have Jaz too. Hussein was a good man. He had been a good friend, and he had gone out fighting, like he would have wanted. But Adam still hurt. He'd felt the hurt building for hours. How many friends had he lost? How many times had he sat in the dark and wanted to scream in anger at the injustice of it. Of all of it. It hadn't been a full year since they buried Vallins. Now Jaz was lying there, surrounded by machines with a quiet, repetitive, rhythmic beeping of her heart monitor letting him know she was alive.

Nurses would come and go every few hours. They would hang a new bag of fluid, or push a syringe of something into the IV in her forearm. Jaz didn't stir. For a while Dalton slept with his head against the bed railing. When he woke up with two numb feet, he decided to stretch it out in the hallway for a while. The hospital noise seemed to be the same, whether it was noon or midnight. Still Jaz slept. He watched the fluid drain into her, a slow, constant, drip. Her body was mostly covered, tucked neatly under sheets, hidden by a gown, except her face and hands and arms. Her knuckles were bruised. He quietly picked up her hand and turned it over in his. There were bloodstains on her skin. There were stitches in her upper arm. They'd cut her. Torture. They'd tortured her. While Adam sat in relative safety, he had let them torture her.

Dalton didn't have words to describe Jasmine Khan. She was the best shot he knew. She was tough as nails in the field. But she loved to laugh, to kick her feet up and throw her head back and laugh. She would sneak up and knock his hat off, and just laugh. She could take a shot just as easy as she could give one and never backed down. Sometimes it was like she wanted you to forget she was a woman, like she was more comfortable being one of the guys. But she was a woman. And sometimes, just for a minute she let it show. In a look or the way she tucked her hair back, or the way she walked. Sometimes it was like she could get right in his face and demand he saw her as both, the sniper and the woman, and he didn't know what to do with that.

"Jaz," he whispered into the quiet of the room. He looked at her hand resting in his. He had held her hand just like this as they made their way into the Tehran airport. He'd touched her and held her close, like a devoted husband would. He'd played the part, but it felt uncomfortable. This was Jaz. She didn't need anyone to hold her. Except that one night, just after Vallins' died. She'd sat on the couch in the middle of the night, staring at nothing. He'd watched the tears spill down her cheeks. He'd just sat there with her for a long time, before the tears stopped coming, and he reached out and put his hand on her knee, tucked up to her chest. She'd been with him more than two years, but that was the first time she'd reached out and clutched his hand. They'd sat like that for hours, not saying anything. There was nothing to say. Vallins was dead. Words wouldn't bring him back.

He hadn't commanded a lot of women. He never forgot that she was one though, never. He just didn't believe that made her less. So why did this hurt so much? Why did it feel so different than when any of the guys got hurt? Was it because he'd pushed her? Did she feel like she had to go in there to make him happy, to make him proud of her, to prove something to him? He looked at her in the pale light of the room. She didn't look tough as nails. He should have protected her. She wasn't one of the guys, and he knew it. He'd grown used to her by his side. He liked holding her hand, too much. He looked forward to the moments when she let herself be a woman, and it scared him.

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her hand still in his, and let himself look at her, really look at her; the curve of her lips and the way her cheekbones almost made it look like she was still smiling. She looked younger, somehow. Vulnerable. Dalton heard an air vent kick on and a slight breeze fluttered through the room, catching a bit of Jaz's hair and blowing it across her forehead. He reached out and brushed her hair back, letting his fingers brush through her hair. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't even thought about it. He'd let his guard down.

In an instant, everything in the room changed. Somewhere in his mind, he had heard a rapid increase in the quiet beeping of Jaz's heart monitor, but he didn't have time to react. He felt his body being jerked around before he knew how or why, then Jaz's forearm press into his throat violently, so hard he couldn't breathe or make a sound. She was crushing his airway. Reacting on instinct, he grabbed on tighter to the hand he held, while she fought to get it over his head. She would snap his neck if he let her, he knew she could, as she fought and clawed at his skin to get free. "Jaz," he choked out, without much sound at all. "Jaz!" Monitors were screaming now, or maybe those were in his head. He couldn't breathe. He tried to turn his head to get a look at her. What was she doing?

"Jaz!" Dalton heard someone yell. The curtain flew back and McG and Amir came running. Amir pried at Jaz's arm around Dalton's throat, while McG went for Jaz. "Jaz!" he called again shaking her. "Jaz! LET GO!" For a moment, everything froze, and as suddenly as she had grabbed him and twisted him into a choke hold, she went completely limp. Amir grabbed Dalton's arm and yanked him away from the bed. Adam gasped for air as he coughed, turning to see Jaz, sitting up in the bed, her eyes wide with panic, darting around the room like a caged animal.

"You're okay," McG told her soothingly. Everything's okay now," he said trying to ease her back into bed. Her eyes moved over and locked with Dalton's as he rubbed at his neck, and he saw them fill with tears.

Before either of them could speak, the room filled with nurses and doctors. "Come on," Amir said, pushing Dalton out of the curtain and a few steps down the corridor. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," was all Adam could say.

"She could have killed you."

Dalton didn't know what to say. He could hear the commotion a few yards away. "Push Ativan," he heard a doctor say.

A few minutes later, McG came towards them. "You okay?" he asked Dalton, who just nodded.

"What's going on?" Dalton asked.

"She's on so many pain meds, Top. She didn't know who you were. She probably didn't know who _she_ was."

"It was just instinct," Amir added. "Adrenaline."

"Yeah. Don't worry about it." Adam told them, a little dazed. He didn't want to talk about it, to dwell on it. "What time is it?"

"04:00," McG answered. "You should go home, get some sleep."

"Yeah, we've got this," Amir told him.

"Is she okay?" Dalton asked, looking through the two of them to the curtain that separated him from Jaz.

"They gave her more Ativan. She's asleep again. They're gonna take another look at her ribs; make sure she didn't hurt anything. She was really out of it, Top. Something probably just startled her."

Adam thought of his hand in her hair, of brushing his thumb along her forehead. She had looked so weak. He shook off the memory. "Okay, Preach and I'll be back at noon. If the docs say anything…"

"We'll let you know," McG finished his thought for him.

"Yeah, okay," Dalton said unsure of himself. Jaz had just done her best to snap his neck. He knew she didn't mean it. He knew she'd been fighting for days to stay alive and with the pain meds… she didn't understand what she was doing, but he was shaken up and he didn't want the guys to see it. "I'll head out," he said pushing his hair back.

"Top," Amir called. "You're bleeding."

Adam followed Amir's eyes to his hand and pulled his hands down to see them. There was a deep scratch where Jaz had tried to break free from him. "It's nothing," he told them.

McG was reaching out for his hand. "Let me take a look," but Adam pulled back.

"It's nothing. I'll see you in a few hours," he told them and turned and walked away.

Jaz turned her face away from the curtain. McG's hand was on her shoulder. "It's okay," he kept telling her. The nurses were pushing and pulling at things, but Jaz was too scared to move. Too scared of what she might do. Images of white floated in and out of her mind. It was hard to stay in the real moment, with McG. She had been in a white space, and someone was touching her hair, that's all she remembered. She had to fight. But when she saw Dalton looking at her… It had been him. She had tried to strangle him, tried to snap his neck. She could have killed him. Like she killed Jarif. Just him and her. With her bare hands. Fight. That's what she was trained to do. "It's okay," she heard McG say again as everything started to fade away again. She felt like a freak, like a monster. Dalton was her friend. What if she'd hurt him? She didn't trust herself, didn't trust what was real. Nothing was okay.

Adam was still rubbing his neck when he came into the steel domed building that Team 7 called home. Preach was waiting for him at the table. "How is she?"

"Resting," Adam said, leaving the rest of it alone. "Did you talk to Gabby?" he asked.

"Yeah," Preach answered. "She said to tell you she's worried about you. You want to talk?" he asked.

Dalton shook his head.

"You want somethin' to eat?"

Dalton shook his head again. He walked over to the first aid station and grabbed a bandage and some ointment for his hand. "I just need some sleep," he told his friend.

"True enough," Preach answered. "But sooner or later, you need to talk to someone."

"Yeah," Adam agreed without really meaning it as he walked towards his room. "Sleep first," he said letting the door close behind him.

He'd crashed hard for a few hours at least. He got to the shower. It felt good, like a new start for the first time in a week. But Preach was still waiting for him in the common room. Dalton made his way back to the first aid cart to grab a fresh bandage, then to the fridge.

"What happened to your hand? It was fine when we got home," Preach asked without looking up from what he was reading.

"I scratched it." Dalton told him, pulling the bandage across the scratch.

"Jaz scratched it," Preach corrected him, finally looking up to watch him.

"Who called?" Dalton asked.

"Amir," Preach answered honestly. "I think he's a little on edge about it," he said putting his book down and coming towards the kitchen. "I mean it's not something you see every day. Sure, we all want to kill you on occasion, but we don't usually give it our best shot."

"She was drugged," Adam said defensively.

"I know."

Adam gave up. He sat down at the table and surrendered. He'd known Preach too long. "What do you want me to say?" he asked.

Preach just watched him, then shook his head. "I want you to admit it's been a bad week."

"I think that could safely be called an understatement."

"And that we're all gonna need a minute to deal with it," Preach added.

Adam nodded. He could admit that.

"You feel responsible for it all, man," Preach started, but Adam shook his head. "Yes you do. Don't lie to me," he said sitting down across from him. "But we all signed on for this, me, Joseph, Amir, Jaz…and Hussein." Adam looked down at the table and started to shake his head again. "Yes he did. He knew what he was doing and he made his own choices. He knew what he was doing," he repeated. "So did Jaz. She made her own choice."

"I ordered…" Adam started to say, but Preach interrupted him.

"I was there, man. I was right there. It was her choice. She made it. And you fought for her," he told him emphatically. "She's here because you wouldn't give up on her. You got her back. She's okay. You don't have to keep trying to save her now."

Adam looked up into the knowing eyes of his friend across the table. He wasn't talking about the mission anymore.

"Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you're gonna need to figure that out, before it causes a real problem out there."

"What are you talking about?" Adam asked, denial being his main go- to when it came to how he felt about Jaz.

Preach looked back and shook his head, as if he were disappointed in his friend.

"I can't… I'm not doing this now, okay?" he said standing up from the table. "I need to get back to the hospital," he said looking at the time. It was almost noon.

"It's my shift," Preach said calmly. Didn't he ever get flustered?

"Yeah, well, I'm coming too." He walked into his room and found his socks and boots.

When he came back into the common room, Preach was standing calmly near the communication table. "I'm going. You're needed here," Preach said pointing to the secured laptop. "It's Command." With a nod, Preach turned and walked out the door.

Dalton dropped his boots and walked to the computer and sat down before activating the link. He expected to see Patricia. Maybe Noah if things had gone south. But instead there was a large balding man filling the screen.

"Captain Dalton," he greeted him. "I'm Acting Deputy Director Michael Cummings, how is your team?"

"Fine, Sir. Jaz… Sergeant Khan," he corrected, "is still needing some medical care, but she's stable. Where's Patricia?"

He saw the man scowl. "Deputy Director Campbell has been suspended pending hearings."

"What kind of hearings?" Dalton asked flatly.

"The kind of hearings you should expect when you possibly commit treason."

Adam felt his temper flare. "What she did was to bring an officer home safely."

"That's really for others to decide at this point, Commander," he said dismissively. "My call was to inform you that we're pulling you out for a while."

Adam's veins turned to ice. "Sir?"

"Team 7, we're bringing you in. Take some leave. Get some rest. It's been nine months."

"With all due respect, we don't need it. There's too much going on…"

"You're a man down."

"We can operate on a four man team. We've done it before. Jaz'll be ready for duty in a couple of weeks."

"That's not the medical report I received. Either way, the decision has been made. Get your team on transports and make your way home. You're assignment has been suspended until further notice."

"Leave? For how long?" Dalton asked.

"Until further notice," Director Cummings repeated indignantly. "Make sure you clear out all your personal items. Another team will be arriving in one week. I expect it empty for them. Clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Adam answered through his clenched jaw.

Dalton made his way back to the hospital to find Jaz's bed surrounded by Amir, Preach and McG. She was awake; her large almond eyes looked calm. There was no sign of the panic that had been there before. She sat partially upright, McG holding her hand. "Jaz," he said with a nervous smile. "Welcome back."

Jaz looked down at her sheets. She tried to smile, but it didn't really come out right.

"She's lookin' good."

"My ankle's broken," she finally said.

"We sorta figured," McG told her.

"It'll heal," Preach encouraged her.

Amir was watching Dalton. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Are they sending us back out?"

Adam looked around at the group. "Let's talk outside," he told them. "Let Jaz rest."

Each of the men stood. Preach patted her leg softly. "I'll be right back," he told her.

McG and Amir said a quick goodbye and filed out of the curtain.

"Top," Jaz called out before Dalton could turn to follow the rest of them.

He looked back at her. She looked scared, and kept looking away from him.

"I don't know what-" she hesitated, but Adam shook his head.

He reached out and took her hand, bending over slightly to look her in the eye. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "It's not even a thing."

She saw the bandage on the back of his hand. "Did I do that?" she asked quietly.

Dalton squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about it," he said again slowly emphasizing each word. "We're good. Okay?" Jaz slowly nodded. "I'll be back in a bit," he told her with another squeeze of the hand and he headed out after the team.

"What do they mean by suspended?" McGuire asked.

"Just a suspended assignment. It's leave, okay? They've put us on _indefinite_ leave," Dalton tried to tell them.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Preach asked.

Dalton looked back at his friend. "Go home," he told him. "Go spend some time with your family. We have to be out of here by next week. I'm gonna try to get some more answers from Noah if I can. In the meantime, we pack up."

"And some other team's just coming in here, taking over?" Amir asked. Adam nodded.

"Who?" McGuire asked.

"I don't know. I've told you everything I know." Adam put his hands up in surrender.

For a few minutes the team stood huddled in the corner of the driveway silently. "Where're you gonna go?" Preach finally asked Amir.

Amir shook his head. "I don't know. My parents are in Chicago. I haven't seen them for more than a few days in three years. You?"

Preach smiled. "My girls are waiting for me."

"Daddy, Daddy," McG squeaked and got a shove from his friend. It felt good to laugh with them. "I think I'll stay with Jaz until she's better," McG told them. It felt like he should. "I'll talk to the docs at least. What about you, Top?"

Dalton looked back at him. "I don't know. I guess I go home."


	4. Chapter 4

Adam Dalton wore jeans and a sports coat as he walked into DIA headquarters outside of Washington DC. Once he'd arrived from Turkey it seemed like he'd slept for two full days before he could clear his head and decide what to do next.

"Can I help you?" a woman asked at the security desk.

Dalton handed her his badge. "I'm here to see Noah Morgenthau."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but, he's expecting me," Dalton told her, which was only half a lie. He'd tried to call Patricia from the airport. She wasn't answering anywhere. Noah was his next best bet.

"Captain Dalton," she repeated looking at his ID skeptically.

Dalton leaned forward, "I work for the DIA. I'm special operations group 7 command. Call Noah Morgenthau and tell him I'm here to talk to him."

Her eyes widened, but she nodded and picked up the phone. A moment later, she hung up and said, "Sir, please come with me." He followed her down the main entrance, to a smaller corridor and into a conference room. Dalton didn't like it in that building. It felt like he was being watched. "Wait here, please," she said excusing herself and closing the door behind her. No. He didn't like anything about this.

When the door opened a minute later it wasn't Noah, it was Acting Deputy Director Cummings. "Captain Dalton," he said striding into the room. "This is a surprise. I hadn't expected to hear from you so…soon," he said as if he had trouble deciding on the word.

"I wanted to see Noah."

"I'm sorry. He's unavailable. Is there something I can help you with?"

Dalton studied the man in front of him. He didn't like bureaucrats. He didn't trust this one. "He's a friend. I was wanting to take him to lunch. Talk," he said vaguely.

"Well, I can pass on that you were here. Maybe he could find some time next week."

Dalton looked around the room. Cummings didn't trust him. The feeling was mutual. The thing about spooks is you always assume you're being lied to. "Yeah," Dalton said casually. "That sounds great. He knows how to get a hold of me. Thank you Director," Dalton said extending his hand. "Sorry to take your time."

"It's not a problem," the director said showing him the door and ushering him out. "Welcome home, Captain," he said as he showed him to the main corridor and he watched as Dalton made his way past security and towards the front door.

Dalton wanted answers. Why was he being kept away from them? He walked out of the building towards his rental car, his mind churning.

"Dalton!" he heard a woman call out. She was hurrying towards him. "Dalton!" she said more quietly. He stared at her blankly. "Hannah," she said pointing to herself.

"Oh my God, Hannah!" Dalton said grabbing her outstretched hand. "I… I didn't recognize you. You'd have to talk more." He'd only seen her face in passing, but her voice was in his ear on every mission.

"You look exactly like you," she told him chuckling slightly.

Now he recognized the voice. "You _sound_ exactly like you."

She grew serious quickly. "You wanted Noah," she said. "He's not here. He was served with a subpoena yesterday. He's in a deposition somewhere. I don't know where."

"A subpoena?" Dalton asked. "From who?"

"The Senate Intelligence Committee."

Dalton exhaled hard. "Where's Patricia?"

"They sent her home. I hope she's meeting with lawyers. Good ones."

"They didn't hold her?"

"No. I took some personal things from her desk over to her a couple of days ago. She seemed okay."

Dalton thought for a moment. "Where's your subpoena?"

"I'm expecting it any time."

"She _saved_ Jaz," he told her emphatically.

"I know. I was there, remember?" she reminded him with a soft smile.

It was weird to talk to someone in person for the first time and yet know them so well. He nodded and smiled in appreciation. "I do. Thank you," he said sincerely. "For everything, I really mean it. We'd be sitting ducks out there if it weren't for you."

Hannah didn't know how to respond. It was nice the team noticed. "I should get back," she told him. "I feel like people are watching me."

"Then they probably are."

Hannah nodded.

"Here," he said pulling a piece of paper from his pocket with a phone number written on it. "It's a burner," he told her. "Keep me in the loop?"

Hannah looked down at the number, then crumpled the paper and handed it back to him. "You really are a spook," she told him with a smile.

"Good memory," he said, realizing she'd memorized the burner phone's number.

"Great memory," she corrected with a smile. "Nice to meet you Captain Dalton," she said turning to walk back inside.

"Hannah," Dalton called after her. "Watch out. I'm going to have to tell McGuire you're prettier than he thinks, and he already thinks you sound pretty hot." Dalton said shrugging as if it were an apology.

She laughed and shook her head as she walked away from him.

Dalton walked along the trail across from Patricia Campbell's Bethesda brownstone. He was looking for a tail, for spooks watching the place. FBI, NSA… he didn't see anyone. That didn't mean they weren't there, just that they were good. He found a bench not far away that let him watch her door. He unfolded his newspaper and he waited. The sun rose in the sky and started to slide down the other side, and he waited. At the top of every hour, he saw the curtains in the front entryway move. He watched the light in the front room flicker off and then on again about an hour later. Finally at 16:04 the front door opened and Patricia Campbell slipped quietly across the street and made her way to his bench.

"What are you doing, Adam?" she asked softly.

"Just sitting, reading the paper," he said folding the paper and putting it on the bench between them. "Are you bugged?"

"Probably," she admitted nonchalantly. "They want to see if I'm a spy"

"They _know_ you're a spy," Adam told her.

"The bad kind," she scolded him kindly. "The kind that hands over sensitive information to our enemies."

Adam shook his head. "Patricia, I am so sorry."

"For what?" she asked.

"I got you into this mess."

"You did?"

"It was my idea. It's my fault."

Patricia turned to look at Adam on the park bench. "You know what, Adam Dalton, self-involved is not one of the top ten characteristics that would come to mind when describing you, but maybe I've been wrong all this time, because you seem to think of yourself as quite the puppet master," she said firmly.

"Excuse me?" Adam asked. He came here to check on her, to apologize and she was calling him self-involved?

"You think you made me do what I did? It was all you? And I bet you made Jaz walk into that hotel too. And Hussein? Is that one on you as well? You're a genius, manipulating us all like that."

"Knock it off," he told her.

"You knock it off. I'm a big girl, Adam. I make my own choices. And you know what? I don't regret it, not for a minute. And if I was there again, I'd make the same choice." She leaned towards her troubled friend. He looked like he had the whole world on his shoulder. " I'm not even a little bit sorry," she told him softly. "Don't you feel sorry for me. Is that clear?"

Adam sat in silence for a moment. "Yes Ma'am," he finally answered.

"How is she?" Patricia asked.

"Bruised up a bit. Broken ankle. She flies in day after tomorrow."

"I'm surprised you didn't stay with her," Patricia said honestly, with an arch of her eyebrow.

Adam looked away. "Yeah, well McG volunteered. I didn't think it was a good idea to get into it."

"Makes sense. He's the medic. What reason did you have, other than guilt?" She had eyes that could bore into a person. She made you feel like she already knew the answer, even when she didn't. Adam looked around, uncomfortably.

"Tell me about Cummings," he finally said, changing the subject.

"He's a pig. If Hannah sticks it out, it'll be amazing. And don't let him get to Jaz. But he won't keep you on the sidelines long. He can't. You're too good." Patricia reached out and put her hand over Adams. "Listen to me. Go home. Get your head in the right place again. Stay out of this mess. The dust'll settle all on its own. One way or another."

She seemed completely at peace with it all. "If you need me," Adam began.

"I won't need you," Patricia said with confidence, standing up, still holding his hand.

" _If you do,_ have Hannah call me." He held tight to her hand for another moment. This woman. This woman he trusted with his life.

She nodded. "You driving home?" she said looking around for a car.

"Just one more stop before I go," he told her as he stood.

"Goodbye Adam," she said sadly. "Take care of yourself." She gave him a small hug before walking back across the street and slipping inside the door.

********  
Dalton waited outside the doors of the base transport station, watching McG help Jaz off the plane. He could see them squabbling about something as he walked slowly and she hobbled along on her crutches. "How was the flight?" he called out to them when they got within earshot.

"Long," McGuire answered.

"And the patient?"

"I have no idea what idiot gave her crutches. She thinks they're a weapon!" he called as Jaz stabbed him with the end of a crutch.

"He keeps babying me!" she shouted, hitting him again with the crutch. "Let me hold your bag! Let me get the door!" she mocked.

"Oh my God! Why did I stay with her?" he asked rolling his eyes. They fought like siblings in the back of a car. _She's touching me! He's looking at me!_

"Go! Home!" she yelled back dramatically.

"Wow, I forgot how much I didn't miss this," Dalton said, mostly to himself.

"Top, what are you doing here?" Jaz asked, finally hobbling close enough to talk without yelling over the wind. "I thought you went home."

"I'm getting there," he told her. "I just had a few stops to make."

"Yeah? Where to next?"

"Reagan, as it turns out. I believe we have a flight to catch to LaGuardia. I am your official escort home."

"I didn't know I needed an official escort," she told him.

"Watch out for the crutch!" McG warned. "I'm gonna grab the bags. Can I hitch a ride with you?"

"You headed to Montana?" Dalton asked.

"Via Las Vegas," Jaz told him.

"Hey, all the flights had a layover anyway, what's wrong with taking a few days?" McG defended.

"Hookers have herpes!" Jaz snapped at him as he headed off for the bags. "Think about it."

She and Dalton were suddenly standing alone for the first time since that night in the hospital. She didn't want people treating her differently. She just wanted it to be normal.

"Blue," he said pointing at the cast on her ankle.

Jaz shrugged. "I asked for Camo. They said they didn't have it."

Dalton shook his head. "How are you supposed to blend in?"

"I tried to tell them," she said.

Dalton looked around to see if they were still alone. "You look good," he told her. She smiled back at him, like she didn't know what to do with that. "Not like… You look healthy," he corrected. "Except for the blue," he looked at the cast. She flicked a crutch into his shin. "Ahh!" he groaned.

They heard a whistle and saw McG with both the bags on his back, headed out to the curb. "Hey Top," Jaz began as she hobbled after him. "About escorting me home… My parents are supposed to be meeting me there. It's just…" she struggled to find the right words. "They don't really know what I do," she admitted.

Dalton turned back and saw the look on her face, that look that made her seem vulnerable again. "Copy that," he told her. "I'll be invisible."

She sat in the window of the plane, her crutches against the wall, Dalton in the seat next to her. They didn't talk much on the flight. Maybe they were both lost in their own thoughts. "Talk to me," she finally whispered.

He looked over at her almond eyes. "What do you want to hear?" He would have told her anything.

"Tell me about home," she said, resting her head against her seat to look at him. She missed his face.

"I bought a cabin about six years ago. It's in the middle of nowhere."

"Blue ridge mountains," she remembered him saying.

"Yeah. Pennsylvania."

"I bet you can see the stars."

"A whole sky of them," he told her. He looked at the way she was clenching her hands. She was nervous. He'd flown with her too much to think it was the plane. "How long has it been since you've been home?" he asked.

Jaz shrugged. "Long time," she told him, staring at nothing in particular. Then she smiled and started to laugh to herself. "You're an old man, Top." Dalton started to laugh with her. "You have a house. You own a house."

"Cabin," he corrected her.

"Whatever."

"Preach owns a house," he told her.

"Preach has three kids. He's an old man!"

He looked at Jaz and saw just how young she was. It was a mistake, these thoughts he kept letting himself have. She was a mistake. A mistake he could have made at her age. "Not as young as I used to be," he said sitting up in his seat. He had to stop doing that.

"Top," Jaz said hesitantly. "Are they breaking us up?"

"What?"

"The team. Are they breaking us up?"

He looked straight ahead. "I don't know."

"How long is this leave?"

"I don't know."

"Did you ask to transfer?"

Dalton looked over at her, puzzled. Is that what she thought was going on? "No."

"Are you transferring some of us? Is it me?"

"Jaz, what are you talking about? I didn't have anything to do with this, Okay? I'm as in the dark as you are."

"Okay," she said turning forward as well. "Would you tell me if-"

"Jaz!" he interrupted her, and she fell silent again.

Jaz insisted on carrying her own backpack as she hobbled off the plane in LaGuardia. Dalton stayed by her side all the way through the airport. "You ready for this?" he asked as the security checkpoint came into sight. Dalton spotted a woman with dark hair and almond eyes, a man about Jaz's age next to her. Jaz's family, he realized. He didn't know them. She wanted it that way.

"Ready or not," she answered, but realized he was gone. She started looking around for him. How did he do that? Then her brother called her name and she had to focus on her family. Her mother was crying already. Her brother was trying to take her bag. "Where's Dad?" she asked.

"He did not want to park. It is so expensive. He's waiting for us," her mother told her as they headed off for baggage claim. Her mother's rich accent washed over her. She wished she could tell her all the places she had been.

When they reached the baggage carousel, she saw Dalton standing on the far side from her, buried in the crowd. She couldn't catch his eye. She hadn't even said goodbye.

"Where is your bag," her mother hovered. "Tell your brother what it looks like."

"It's green," she answered vaguely still trying to meet Dalton's gaze.

"It's there," her mother was pointing. "I see it. Robbie, do you see it? I'll go flag down your father," she said and started off. "Robbie, help your sister."

Her brother darted forward and grabbed the duffle bag off the belt and dropped it at her feet in the middle of a walkway. "I gotta take a leak," he told her. "Wait here."

Classy, she thought as he walked away. She tried to scoot the bag out of the way with her crutch, when Dalton was there, moving it over for her. He stood next to her, but like he didn't even know her. "Thank you," she said quietly. Dalton nodded and smiled like he would to any stranger. "So how do you get to the Blue Ridge mountains?" she asked looking straight ahead, the question disappearing into the crowd.

"You rent a car," he answered without looking at her. "It's only a few hours."

Jaz smiled in spite of herself. She liked him being near her, even like this, but she knew it wouldn't last. "Take care of yourself," she told him.

Dalton could see her brother walking towards them through the crowd. Time was up. "You too, Jaz." For just a moment, almost imperceptibly, he reached out brushed his hand against hers as she held onto her crutch. It was a crowd. People were bumping into each other all around them, and yet something about it felt intimate.

"Okay, let's go," her brother called from a few feet away.

As fast as he had appeared, Dalton was gone. Jaz suddenly felt alone. She didn't look around for him again. She'd said her goodbye, but not knowing when she would see him again, any of them, it felt like a hole in her gut.


	5. Chapter 5

Dalton threw his weight forward as the ax came crashing down into the wood log, again and again, splitting it, and scattering it in the rain soaked meadow. It had been raining for two days straight. All day, and all night, he listened to it pound against the roof and pour down over the windows. He'd had another dream, last night. This time it was a gunshot. But it was always the same. Jaz was dead, and he felt helpless.

He'd gotten up and tried to exhaust his body with pushups and pull ups and sit ups and planks until he thought he was tired enough to fall back to sleep, but it never came. The sun came up somewhere behind the gray clouds and even in the rain, he was grateful to get to work. The woodpile was almost up to his waist now, after his morning work, as he threw the broken logs on top, then grabbed another stump from the edge of the forest and picked up the ax again. He was sure he'd be feeling it come tomorrow, but for now it felt good. He was soaked through, his pants and shirt. His hair stuck to his face as he swung the ax again. He couldn't tell the rain from the sweat, but it was like letting go of something, something he'd been carrying for too long. Until the sound of the rain and the wind was interrupted by the sharp shrill of the cell phone he'd left on the covered porch.

Dalton pushed his hair back from his face, draining water down the back of his head, and tried to find some dry surface to wipe his hands. There wasn't one. "Yeah," he said, holding the phone to his ear. He expected to hear Hannah Rivera, but he never seemed to get what he expected.

"Dalton?"

"Noah?" Dalton asked.

"Hannah said you wanted to be in the loop."

"I do. What's going on down there?"

"They have Patricia scheduled for a closed door hearing with the Senate Intelligence Committee next Thursday."

Dalton let out a long sigh. "What about you and Hanna?"

"We gave depositions," Noah told him. "They don't want us, Dalton. They want her."

"But why?" Dalton asked him.

"I don't know. They asked me a lot about her son. Maybe they think she's too close to it… to personal. I don't suppose anyone subpoenaed you…"

"They aren't the least bit interested in what I think about it," Dalton told him. "Hey, have you talked to her at all?"

"Some."

"And what did she say?"

"She said to keep out of it; to do as we're told."

"So what are you going to do, Noah? Are you planning on stay out of it and doing as you're told?"

It seemed like a long pause before Noah answered, "Not a chance in hell."

Dalton smiled. "Good man," he told him. "I'm on my way."

"All right, Sergeant," Dwight said lacing up Jaz's shoe around her brace and pulling her up from her seat at the end of the exam table. "How does that feel?"

It had been almost exactly six weeks since Iran. First chains, then a cast and crutches, then a boot. Finally, she felt like she could really move. "Like freedom," she told him.

Dwight smiled and gave her a nod of approval. "Yeah? Let's see it. Fast feet," he called and Jaz started a quick dash with both feet. "Good. Jacks," he said stepping back to watch her. She did a couple dozen. The pressure in her ankle was there with each jump, but she could bare it. "You can feel that?" he asked. Jaz nodded slightly. "That's okay. That's how you build up strength again." Dwight shrugged. "I have to tell you, as much as I love your company, I think you're there, Jaz. There's nothin' more I can do for you."

"You're kickin' me out, huh?" she asked him.

"Setting you free," he told her. He put his arm around her shoulder as he walked her towards the exit. "Two weeks with the brace, at least," he reminded her.

"Copy that," Jaz said happily. The sooner she got through with this, the sooner she could get back to her team. That's what she really wanted.

"You take care of yourself out there, Jazzy Jaz."

"You too, Dwight," she said with a fist bump. That was it. Physical therapy, done.

She strode out of the office and onto the courtyard of Manhattan's VA hospital, when she saw her. She was dressed better than anybody around her, standing near a coffee cart, a paper cup in her hand. She was watching Jaz, like she had been waiting for her.

Jaz cautiously walked towards her and when she was close enough, Director Campbell smiled. "Hello Jaz," she said warmly.

"Director Campbell," Jaz said awkwardly. People like her talked to Top, maybe Preach, but not to her.

"Patricia, please," she said, motioning to a nearby table, for Jaz to sit down. "Can I get you a coffee?"

"No, Ma'am," she told her. "No thank you. " Jaz looked around them. "Were you watching me?" she asked uncomfortably.

But Patricia only smiled. "Finding out when you had a doctor's appointment is not exactly what we would consider high level intelligence, but… I was waiting for you," she admitted.

"Is everyone okay?" Jaz asked, feeling a sense of panic race through her system. "Is my team okay?"

"They're fine, Jaz," Patricia said calmly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

Jaz nodded with relief. So, what was she doing there? "Is there something I can do for you, Ma'am?"

"I suppose you already have," Patricia told her. "You look like you're healing nicely." Jaz nodded. "I guess I just needed to see it for myself."

"I'm not following."

Patricia sighed. "Jaz, did they tell you how we got you out of Tehran?" she asked, lowering her voice.

Jaz nodded. "You told them who I was, so they'd move me, so the guys could get to me."

"That's right," Patricia said. "And I'd do it again. But, as it turns out, outing an American asset is a Federal crime."

Jaz's eyes grew wide and she stopped fidgeting, but Patricia only smiled. "What do you mean? I mean, what does that mean?"

"Well, I was suspended from my job, as soon as the mission was complete, and I've been enjoying some much needed time off."

"How much time?"

"Well, that's apparently going to be up to the Senate Intelligence Committee next week," she told her.

"Oh, shit," Jaz only whispered. This was huge. "I… I mean," she started to correct her language, but Patricia was smiling and nodding.

"That just about sums it up, yes."

"What can they do?"

"To me? They can recommend censuring me, firing me, or I suppose they could prosecute me for treason."

"You could go to jail?" Jaz asked.

"I suppose, or worse. Treason is technically a capital crime, but I doubt it will go anything like that."

"What can I do, Ma'am?"

But Patricia shook her head. "That's not why I came here, Jaz. Everything's going to be fine. I'll tell you the same thing I told Dalton. Keep your head down and stay out of this mess. It'll all be over soon enough. You'll be back in the field. Everything will be business as usual. I just wanted to see you, with my own eyes. And now I have. I have no regrets." Patricia sighed and looked at her watch. "I have a train to catch. I should be going." She stood up and offered Jaz her hand. "It was nice seeing you again, Jaz. You take care." She shook her hand firmly, then turned and made her way to the street, hailing a taxi.

Jaz sat at the table alone for a while longer. Director Campbell had saved her life. She couldn't just do nothing.


End file.
